2019-07-19 - ZomBears

With the time set and the paperwork out of the way, Easton feels free to at least have a few drinks before his tattoo session. It makes the whole experience more pleasant, unless you miss the mark and go overboard. But Easton isn't exactly inexperienced at this. He shows up to the tattoo parlor feeling pretty great. With a last drag off a cigarette, he stops and sighs, dropping it to the ground. He enters the parlor, again calling out drunkenly for someone but this time it's "LEEEEX! We doin this?!" Yes, he's far too loud for someone with an appointment, but well, it's Easton.

Well, at least he's shouting her name this time. That has to be some sort of improvement. ... Right? Much like before, Lex is using a booted foot to lazily shove the wheeled stool that she's straddling out of her booth and into easy sight. Even for the drunk. "... okay, you real drunk, dollface. You sure you can hold still? 'cause even I got the whole... professional obligation thing." The silver-haired woman is dressed in black leggings and an oversized gray tank-top, which is falling off one shoulder to show the black strap of the bra beneath. If one can make any of that out amidst the tattoos.

"First of all. This barely qualifies as buzzed on the sliding scale of drunk me." Easton pulls off his shirt, probably far before it's necessary. He looks around and says, "And second of all, I'm pretty sure you could stab me and I wouldn't budge. Where would you like me?"

Oh, there are so many things she could say. So many things she wants to say. And yet... work. Fucking work. And so Easton's statement earns a long stare from the green-eyed woman, her expression flat in that way that suggests she's... forcing it to be flat. "I probably won't stab you, but I make no promises. On the table, laying on your stomach. I can strap you in, if you need." She sounds curiously serious.

Easton doesn't catch any look from Lex. He just lays his shirt down on the table and then lays down on it. He looks back up at her and says, "Uh, no. I'd rather not be strapped in if it's all the same. But I do promise to keep my hands and legs inside the vehicle at all times." With his head to the side he asks, "Okay this weirdly feels like I should be getting a massage. Do you do massages? I need a masseuse. But like someone with man hands..." He's rambling a little bit.

Lex... does not have man hands. She does, however, have black rubber gloves. Snap. "I... do not do massages," she answers, probably needlessly. "I stick needles and rods into people. It's kinda... contradictory, yeah?" It seems she was ready for the appointment, for a rolling stand is already prepped with disinfectants, tattoo guns, and a variety of inks. He'd hear the stool rolling closer to him -- the one that the tattooist is straddling -- if not actually see it. She's pausing for a moment beside the half-stripped Easton and the ink set-up. "I usually don't charge up front... but in this case, I think we should probably pay first. No fuckin' idea what you're gonna be like when this is done."

"That doesn't sound as relaxing when you say it that way." The snap causes him to look back and see what caused that slightly disconcerting noise. He laughs and doesn't seem off-put by the request to pay upfront. He slides a hand into his pocket and pulls out his wallet and after fiddling with it for a while with one hand (looks it's hard on your stomach to do this), he finally just hands it to her. "The blue visa..." And then it dawns on him that they had a different payment plan in place. He says, "Oh. uh.." And then he rolls over and sits up, putting his wallet back in his pants. He does a fairly casual for a drunk guy look around and then passes her a baggie with the pills in it. "Sorry. Almost forgot."

Lex didn't forget. She's watching him with that same blank expression as he fishes out that wallet, and even lifts a metal-laced 'brow when he stars to pull out the credit card. "... mmhm," is her less-than-amused sounding response to his mention of 'forgetting'. The baggie is taken, flattened in her hand long enough to count the contents, before it's slid into one of those weirdly hidden pockets along the thigh of her leggings. Odds are they'll end up somewhere... safer... eventually, but for the moment? "Lay back down." That's what she said.

Watching her count them all, a small smirk crosses Easton's face. He would have counted too. It's just what you do with people you barely know and drugs. But still the thought of shorting her, or anyone else would never even cross his mind. He explains, "Careful tho. I've rolled plenty of times and it didn't go great here in town." He's not exactly forthcoming yet, but it doesn't hurt to give a heads up. He lays back down on his stomach, trying to find the right place to put his arms so that his back is as flat as possible at the shoulder. His back has it's fair share of scars, some look like rather large burn patches, others angry red gashes that are healed but still raised. The bear itself looks like: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/9/9b/Cornell_Big_Red_logo.svg/300px-Cornell_Big_Red_logo.svg.png A very red bear in a very red big C.

"Sweetheart, I was born here. Things don't go great when you ain't rolling. Besides... Ox5? That ain't takin' nobody nowhere. Just... takes the edge off." And when 'the edge' involves projectile furniture, he's probably doing the world a favor by feeding the tattooist's drug habits. "Jesus," she sighs as she gets her first close look at the tattoo. It's not a 'I can't do this' this kind of sigh so much as 'why did you do this' kind of sigh. "Please tell me you were very drunk when you chose this..." Definitely the latter. She's waiting until he's positioned himself on the table to begin scrubbing the area with the cold antiseptic. Should she have warned him about that? A test, perhaps, to see just how 'unmovable' the drunken man claims to be.

Easton rolls his eyes at the talk about the drugs, "Yea, I get it. Believe me. But just be careful, that's all I'm saying. I don't know how any of this works and normally I'd have been pounding those like candy. But I'm not so sure now." He adds on a slightly less mysterious / spooky note, "And my girlfriends not thrilled about it. Bad past experience." He doesn't feel the need to clarify exactly what that was. The exclamation about his tattoo causes a ripple of laughter through his torso. "I, like college freshman everywhere, thought a school logo tattoo was a great idea. I was wrong. Very, very wrong." He doesn't even twitch a bit at the antiseptic.

"Not thrilled about what? The pills, or the tat?" It's a fair question. Or at least Lex seems to think so. Seemingly content with his ability not to flinch, he's actually flipping one of the coils on. The soft buzz is a giveaway, and soon he'd feel the pressure of her fingers feeling along the skin. Testing elasticity, feeling for scars, determining just how much pigment she's going to need to cover... "So you're cool with me freestyling this? Probably should've asked when you were sober... but honestly, I won't know what's gonna take until I start putting ink down. Trying to follow a picture might end up worse than the original."

"The pills." Easton clarifies smoothly, "She's never mentioned the tat, though I doubt she could be fond of it." He does have other ink. A pineapple on his side and stack of flying money on his front hip. They are line art only, well done but basic. The bear is just a mess of red and blurry lines though. "I honestly can't imagine you making it worse? I mean hell throw it in a tutu or make it a circus bear and it's still an improvement. Though I think I'm pretty set on zombie bear coming through a portal? Or door? We talked about this I think.." But now that memory feels a little fuzzy. "But Geoff vouches for your work, so have at it. Which reminds me, I still need to talk to Turner about new ink. I feel like I need something."

"Oh, I can make it better than it is. Just makin' sure I still got free reign..." The words are drawled, and her hand is finally drawn back. He'd feel the tickling brush of a marker then, as the artist lays down a blocked outline of her 'free reign'. Skin has a way of shifting under pressure, and one familiar with that 'quirk' is also familiar with what he'd likely know is basic tattoo work. If she were skipping said steps... that would be the reason to worry. "Geoff or Turner," she echoes his two names for the name, not bothering to hide the distraction in her voice. She's working now. "Pick one. Too many people in this fucking town already."

The last name habit is actually something he's trying to break, another hold over from his days in the corps. "Geoff", he states the preference clearly, not apparently confused or annoyed by her insistence on a single moniker. He laughs and says, "It's a tiny town Lex." But then he thinks about it for a second and adds, "But I know what you mean.." Or rather he has an idea of what she might mean based on the number of people who stand out and trying to keep all their pasts straight with regards to who knows what about Glimmer and Dark Men and the like.

"It may be a tiny town, but it's a fucking vicious town," Lex counters, demonstrating a bluntness that so few in Gray Harbor seem willing to approach. As far as most are concerned? All is well. That was just a freak accident. Nothing to see here. "To be honest, I've been on worse trips in this place when I was sober than when I wasn't." The basic blocking done, she's going through the rest of the basics -- the razor blade shave, the press of an actual template, and then the returning buzz of the coil. "And I'm a worse trip when I'm sober. Wherever you gettin' the oxy, keep it the fuck up. That pineapple was a bad life decision."

"Word." Easton readily agrees that the town is small but mighty and very, very angry. He turns his head slightly, trying not to mess up her work when she offers the part about worse trips sober. "Interesting. I'm not sure I've been sober long enough to tell." Well that's a sad little factlet dropped right there. He shakes his head and says, "No. The pineapple is a testament to one of my favorite memories. You respect the pineapple. Getting engaged to my college girlfriend? Now that. That was a bad life decision."

"I respect no pineapples. But if you wanna keep it, then you keep it." Her responses are slower now, her focus prioritized on the bit of drawing she's permanently 'drawing' on his back. There's a soft snort then, though it's hard to tell if it's in response to the mention of college girlfriends or the bit about being sober. "I was sober when I got here." There you go! "I... have done my best not to be sober since then. 'Cept here. They got these fuckin' rules about it all. Licensure, contracts... it's all pretty annoying. I'm sure people would love goin' under tripping needle."

She's moving slowly across his back, more intent on getting the tattoo right than making it quick. Or painless. "Just engaged, or did you do the actual wedding bit?"

Easton is unperturbed by her judgement of his tattoos. They aren't for other people anyway. At least not living people. "Sober is overrated." Of course then he realizes she is permanently inking things on his skin and she puts holes in people and he ammends, "Though, maybe I'll grant that it's best you're sober at work." He usually is. Usually.

"Thank everything that is good in this universe, just engaged. I don't ... I can't even imagine." He tries not to actually shiver at the thought of it. "No, we both screwed it up and it was doomed for a lot of reasons." One major one, but a lot of little ones as well.

"Hey, you say that like I was rating sober." She speaks more slowly as she works with the tattoo coil, wiping away excess ink every now and again. "Poorly, anyway. I keep legit for work, 'cause... permanent and all... but outside these walls?" Considering he paid for this tattoo in opioids, does she really need to elaborate? Really? "It's good you broke things off before they got official. Or you knocked her up. That's got a weird way of leading to official..." Spoken like one who has heard way too many 'why I'm covering this tattoo up' stories.

"I don't rate sober." He frowns as she mentions keeping legit for work. He shakes his head as if trying to shake away a memory. "Yea, I remember having to be c and c. That's.. over." He doesn't sound that upset about it. He laughs about the the part about breaking it off. "God I.. " He sighs and says, "I feel like I need another drink even considering being married to her." He then gets a furrowed brow and asks, "You ever have a guy try to lock you down?" Sure she's young, but who knows.

'Young' is a relative term, in Gray Harbor. And in the circles that Lex has spent half of her life running. And so the question doesn't earn any sign of surprise from the tattooist -- simply an audible snort as she wipes once more at the tattoo, and a drawled, "I've had guys try to call me me their girlfriend. Considering I swore off that shit five or six years ago..." And so the spoken-but-unspoken answer is... no? "How long were you in the military?"

"Six years in the Marine corps." He answers as crisply as he can in his inebriated state. He revisits the topic of people trying to tie her down with a "That shit being men? Monogamous relationships? Or the combination of those two things?" It seemed like a clever play on words to Easton at the time in his state of mind. He muses, "Yea, after I broke things off, I fucked around ... a lot. Like a lot, a lot" He's not bragging, in fact he sounds a little grossed out by it now in retrospect. "But I'm seeing someone now and it's good. I think I forgot what that was like."

"Men. Women. A few were a bit of both." If she's joking, it sure as hell doesn't sound like it. "But I was a fuckin' kid, you know?" She probably still is, by many peoples' standards. "I... did my share of fuckin' around, yeah. Had a couple of... bad spells." Her tone regarding said 'spells' isn't exactly grossed out, but she doesn't sound particularly proud of herself. "I'm glad you found something good. Hold onto it. I tried the stickin' around thing little while back... and it didn't go so hot. Hasn't been goin' so hot since. But fuck, it's Gray Harbor, right?" Some try to pretend that the town is normal. Others are like Easton and Lex.

Easton gets a quizzical look on his face when he tries to figure out what a bit of both means. He comes to some mental conclusion about third gendered people and ohs to himself, whether that's what she meant or not. "Oh goodness, I don't want to think about young me. I was an idiot. And a douchebag. And.. ugh." He wants to ask her about the 'bad spells' comment but just holds onto that one for now. "You not planning on staying? Or do you mean sticking around in terms of not just plowin' and bowin'., hittin' and quittin', bumpin' and jumpin'" yes he rattles off a list of rhyming slang for one night stands, and seems far too pleased with himself about it.

"I took my turn running," she offers after a particularly long silence. Maybe it was a complicated bit of tattoo? "Six years in Seattle. You... forget what it's like here, mostly. But fuckin' honest truth? Worst thing that's happened to me had nothin' to do with this place. Besides... if you haven't found out already, people like us..." The glow-worms, you know. "We got a way of ending up back here, even if we don't want it." She seems to be nearing mid-way point down the length of the tattoo, if nothing else. The concentration may make for slower conversation... but better a slow chat than a talkative disaster, right? "But I was talkin' about... sticking with a person, yeah. Not bumpin' and jumpin'." She doesn't sound bothered by the slang. Probably not a good thing. "Maybe I'm getting too old." Yeah, going on twenty-five will do that to you...

"I know. I came here as a kid and forgot shit... Forgot somethings I knew then." Not that he knew a lot but still the fogginess now seems so hard to grasp, when all the weirdness is so clear. So visceral. He laughs at the fact that the worst thing to happen to her had nothing to do with this place. He says, "Yea, same here." Except this place has a way of re-opening things and re-examining them. So that's been fun. He just says, "I wonder if that's what this place wants though. Just a bunch of broken shiny people..." That slips out without much thought, or filter to catch it. Something he's been wondering ever since the shared dream with Bennie, Baylee and Aidan.

"You? Yea, yer fuckin' decrepit. I mean shit, what are you twenty-one? Might as well give up and die." It's a joke. Just a fairly dark one.

"Twenty-fuckin'-three, thank you very much," she's drawling back to him, dragging out each of the syllables. "And earned every year of it." Sting, sting, sting, wipe of the cloth. "I was born here. Got shipped to Seattle when I was about sixteen... and just got back a month or two ago. The memories... came back. And the shit from Seattle came right along with 'em." Re-opening and re-examining, indeed. "You lose the leg in the Corps?" Some people are tactful. Some people are Lex.

"Bowling accident." Easton answers easily with a glint of humor in his eye as he continues. "Turns out those ball return machines will suck you in and mangle a foot in under three seconds." Yes, he has a list of dumb stories and ways that he's lost his leg that he tells when he gets tired of the actual story. "But actually yea. The Corps. IED." He keeps it brief but informative. "Yea. It's weird how this place seems hell bent on memories. Or fuck... maybe we are." That's a sad thought. It makes him think of Tom or the ghost of Tom or the memories he has of Tom parading around in a Tom shaped ghost. Ugh.

"I'm gonna say this once and you can just ignore it if you want. I started talking to someone, locally. Because I couldn't sleep and I'm not the best at picking healthy coping mechanisms. And I think it might help... maybe. But if you want her info, I can give you that. And if you want me to never mention that again you can slap me or just laugh in my face. Either's fine."

"Better the corps than the bowling pin machine," Lex counters, unnervingly unphased by the initial version of the story. "They payin' you disability for it, right? Not like I got experience here, but I've tattooed around enough scars to figure out that if you gonna get fucked up, it best be in the military or on a union job..." Hey, it's true. She's falling silent again as he mentions the therapist -- even if he doesn't call her by such a ghastly name -- before she's smirking to herself. Something he wouldn't see, but may hear a bit of in her response, "How 'bout this. I got your number, and you got hers. Things get straight jacket bad? I'll toss you a text." Comforting.

"Yea." Technically they are paying him disability. "It's screwed up though because it's pro-rated since it was only one leg." I mean yes it makes sense, but it still seems weird on the face of it. "Yea, I mean I rehabbed with people who lost legs for just shit reasons and they were just screwed." He doesn't push when she goes quiet about the therapist. It's not something he would have ever let someone suggest to him. And he's never actually thought of one as useful before Dr. Glass. Granted they were all military doctors and had a different set of concerns, but still. "Works for me." She's 23 with a pocket full of pills, he's not exactly surprised that she doesn't want to take him up on the offer right now. Maybe when those are gone?

Or maybe she'll find a way to get more. Toss Easton into another dream, and we may have a whole new arrangement! "Pro-rated is fucked up," she agrees, then, "You'd be surprised how many people tattoo stumps. And fuck that, 'cause tattooing over scars..." It's not exactly a refusal to do so, but it does offer some insight into her opinion on the manner. "Though hell, I've made enough people do it on me. Karma, right?" Considering everything below the girl's neckline seems inked in one way or another, it'd be a fun guessing game to figure out just which scars she's referencing. "You said somethin' 'bout your girl not being happy about... the highs?" Trying her turn at tactful, and probably make it worse.

"Oh believe me. I've seen far too many shitty stump tattoos. I knowsa lot of amputees, both in person and online. That was part of my recovery.." He doesn't sound exactly like it helped but it's true, he's seen a lot of terrible tattoos. He does in fact try to look up at her when she mentions about tattoos over scars but it's hard laying down to see much anyway. "Yea. There's past there." He doesn't really want to get into specifics of Bennie's story so he keeps it vague. "So, probably laying off those for a while."

"Well... if you layin' off them, lay them on me." He's not the only one who can make bad word-play. "This person you talk to about sleep. She write scripts, or is it all that talking shit?" Apparently, she is familiar. Then, with a broader wipe of the tattoo. "Gettin' close to finished here. You hangin' in?" It doesn't seem to be a judgment of Easton him so much as the habitual question before the final details. You know, the kind you really shouldn't squirm during.

"Ha" Easton appreciates the bad wordplay though, though he tries not to laugh too much. "And yea. She does. I got a couple scripts for things." Look just because he's not taking Oxy doesn't mean he's not taking other things. "The ambien shit works. I feel a little dazed but not bad." Yes it's highly addictive and probably a terrible long term plan, but Huzzah! Sleep! He adds, "The anti-anxiety shit is just weak. Feels like a mild perc high, nothing worth taking." Yes, he's rating his drugs while drunk. He's classy af. "I'm fine. Excited to see my zombear."

"Careful with Ambien," she actually warns. "Even outside of X-Files Harbor, you can get walking nightmares on that shit. I had friends make some pretty fucked up calls on Ambien..." Well, we've found one drug that Lex won't take. "The anti-anxiety stuff's not bad if you pair it with weed or booze. That chick at the Bud and Buds place? She's got some decent shit. Probably less likely to kill you than pills and booze." Lex has leaned in closer, and if he even remembers his previous tattoos, begun to work on the areas that weren't so cooperative the first time around. Fun, fun, fun. But also almost done.

"Hunh" And here he was all worried that Oxy contributed to those nightmares. Which to be fair, it's not the worst case of confusing correlation and causality. He says, "Good to know. So far, it's just helping knock me the fuck out, which is amazing." He doesn't exactly sound warned off from it, to say the least. "Bud and Buds? Huh.." It wasn't that long ago that he was suggesting that very name to someone. "Genevieve? I should go check that place out." He then settles in to let her finish up, actively trying to not make conversation while she concentrates.

That works for me, if you're good with it. 🙂 I assume you have a picture of what you wanted it to be? 😉